Out of wonderland

If I were to make a diagram of my experiences in Vietnam, there would be one branch for things that turned out as expected – generally, goods are cheaper than in America, journalism is more submissive, and fashion is equally mixed. There would be a branch for things that surprised me, either because they differ so much from America (take off your shoes when entering a shop), or because we’re not so different after all (is there anywhere the income gap isn’t a problem?).

Of things that aren’t so different, I don’t know if my biggest discovery would disappoint or delight, but it is this: many of the pleasures of visiting another culture (language, food, customs) were, in this case, already available to me in America. I spoke Vietnamese at home, of course, but also in the Vietnamese stronghold of South Sacramento, people generally don’t need English to conduct business, read the paper, or just carry on with daily life. In South Sacramento and at home, I have also eaten most of the same cuisine I’ve had in Vietnam – mi xao, banh xeo, bun bo hue, etc. I noticed this because people here constantly asked me during meals whether the food was OK, and I’d constantly explain that yes, we have all of this in America. That might be the reason I haven’t gotten food poisoning. Unfortunately, that also means it was hard to try new foods (plus I’m not brave enough to try snake).

Many of the local customs, like eating on the floor or lighting incense for the deceased, were already a part of my life, thanks to my parents. They also decorated our house with cultural ornaments, from paintings to statues to fans, which made it very difficult to buy souvenirs here, as most of the useless knick-knacks I came across are available in South Sacramento.

So I would call this discovery disappointing because it sort of defeats the purpose of coming here – emphasis on “sort of” because the country still holds enough of a unique lifestyle, history, and development for a good old-fashioned culture shock. But for tourists who can’t afford to come here, this could be a delight because all they have to do is spend some time in the Vietnamese community in their own towns. For America the implications are both good (as Viet Kieu add diversity to the country) and bad (as they insulate themselves from mainstream America).

(Aside: as I’m writing this, two chickens have just wandered into my room.)

Between the expected and the unexpected, there’s a third branch in my diagram. I noticed it in my first week in Saigon, when it came time to do laundry. The vast majority of people hand wash and hang dry their clothes, which makes perfect sense. It’s not as if I expected people to have washing machines, but I also hadn’t thought about the fact that my clothes, too, must be hand washed. So there are things that aren’t surprising, but that you don’t think about until their time comes.

And the time has come to say goodbye. Although I knew I would have to leave Vietnam, it hadn’t occurred to me that I would be leaving its people and traditions and way of life. Of course there’s plenty I won’t miss. I can’t wait to get away from Mr. Mosquito, away from the smog and the two types of weather, heat or rain. I won’t have to barter with merchants anymore, and they won’t follow me around every inch of their stores, trying to convince me to buy things I don’t want. I won’t be solicited on the street by errant peddlers who can’t possibly make a living with what they’re selling, or by poor children selling lottery tickets when they should be in school.

Usually I don’t miss anything or anyone because I know I’ll see them again. So the exceptions are things and people gone forever, separated either by time (hence my debilitating nostalgia) or, as I see now, distance. I still have a few hours until my flight back to America, but already I am missing this bustling city. I’ll miss the wind rushing past as I sit on the back of a motorbike. I’ll miss seeing a movie for $2 or staying in a beachfront hotel for $12. I’ll miss always having someone to tell me how to say or spell a word in Vietnamese. I’ll miss being called “Lien oi” and “Lien Lien” and “em.” And I’ll miss the people calling me by those names, people with whom I’ve spent almost every day for the past two months, people who hadn’t factored into the equation when I first planned my trip but who now sum up the entire summer. But I’m wrong about one thing: they’re not all gone forever because there’s no question that I’ll be back.